


ask me what you (don't) want

by CrazyLaughter



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Denial of Feelings, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Louis, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-05 21:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyLaughter/pseuds/CrazyLaughter
Summary: AU. Louis thinks too much and Harry doesn't think enough. Which is why Louis reluctantly ends up in a pub with Harry as his supposed wingman.





	ask me what you (don't) want

"That's it," Harry warns.

Louis is too sluggish for the day. The sky's been a murky grey, the wind was irritating his ears and the roads have been covered in sleet. His shoes were sad and wet by the time he had stepped into class and he earned himself a scolding of five minutes for dirtying the room. It was almost like the weather was keeping him company in his bad mood. He likes to think that it's poetic how that is, and not how England's sodding climate was perpetually something not for the romantic novels.

And his bad mood has been just as accommodating as England's climate. It never changed back to sunny.

(Or perhaps being so dramatic was poetic. He also liked to think he's poetic.)

So, Louis was too sluggish for the day. Probably too sluggish because in a blinding moment, Harry rips himself off his seat, stumbles onto his feet and slams the hardbound textbook shut over Louis's resting fingers.

But he isn't too sluggish in darting back his hand to cradle it against his chest and let out a scream. A manly scream, mind you. "What was that for?!"

Harry doesn't immediately answer, choosing to glare back at him with what he assumes is intensity. He does that, Harry. He conjures up words to say so that he doesn't sound too meek but just enough to scare Louis into doing something. It shouldn't scare Louis anymore because he's seen all the tactics, but he ends up listening somehow.

(Maybe because he has a soft spot for Harry. But there isn't proof of that.)

(Or maybe, Louis has liked Harry Styles just a tiny bit when they were in high school. He also might have pushed those feelings down before they grew into roots of love. He was obviously going nowhere with it, and he didn't need to be tied down by a boy he'll never have, thank you very much.)

"You need to stop moping around, Louis," he says gravely, like it's the end. Like there isn't any more place for argument. At the same time, he sounds patient as if he's speaking to smaller child. "I've watched you in this rut for four months but seriously, you need to get over that tosser."

Louis wrinkles his eyebrows in confusion, about to protest. "Huh? Harry-"

"Don't you get it? He screwed you and screwed you over! I get it, he was good in bed, but everywhere else, he was good for nothing!"

Horror strikes Louis's features. He hisses, "Harry-"

"No, Louis, _you_ listen to me," Harry emphasizes by jabbing a finger at Louis and then at himself. There's a fire in his eyes, almost like he's impassioned to embarrass Louis in public. "He was every synonym for an idiot in the thesaurus and you're not supposed to let him bring you down. You're not supposed to let him into your head and control your thoughts! Look at you!" He gestures at Louis with wide eyes, spit flying everywhere. "We haven't done something remotely fun in months! We haven't roamed London like we planned to when we came here and we haven't been on the Eye and we- my point is, Eric is an utter arse and he's turned you into a sad clown and he's controlling your life!" He huffs, red in the face, "And I hate it. I hate this."

There is a painful silence wrapped around them and Harry should realise that he's embarrassing Louis in public, but he doesn't. He continues to glare Louis with pinched eyebrows and flaring nostrils. After a few moments of nothing, Louis hears their beloved librarian, the one with snake-like eyes and a frail face that Louis always forgets the name of. "C'mon, let's go before the librarian throws an encyclopedia at us."

He doesn't wait for a reply from Harry before he gathers up their books tucked under an arm, grasps Harry's wrist and pulls him out the doors of the library. He can feel a flush of embarrassment blot into his cheeks as they fall against the brick wall outside the entrance. A girl passes by them with a strange look.

"I-" Harry begins.

"Shut it," Louis snaps. "Seriously, shut it. You have neither the time, nor the place correct, do you? You never think, do you?"

Harry frowns, his ears turning identically pink. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Louis glares at the ground for what seems like a solid minute, determined to ignore Harry. But, he can feel the nervousness from Harry vibrate the air around them. When he looks up, Harry is biting his lip and looking at him contemplatively.

(Damnit.)

"You could told me in a better way," he tries to explain gently. "You didn't have to shout it out in front of everyone and their mother. It's normal to have an ex and be troubled by having an ex."

Harry shakes his head, curls whipping around his head. "I don't mean that isn't normal, Lou. Because it isn't that. Eric wasn't a great guy and I've seen it reflect on your face too many times. I don't understand why you're so hung on him. I don't," he says fiercely. "He doesn't deserve it. You shouldn't waste your time and tears over someone who isn't worth it. You don't deserve it."

Certainly, Louis had been expecting his pep talk a long time. The sadness that had pinched him numb in the end of last year had stretched itself into the current year and had eaten away nearly half. Sometimes he was mostly angry and that didn't help. It mostly didn't help when Eric drunk dialed him every two weeks. If anything, it was a tedious cycle. Harry had let it be; he hadn't asked or poked about it for a long time. He didn't ask him to parties or of his recent escapades or if Louis was finding newfound luck in the romance department. And Harry never keeps quiet. If he see something bothering someone, he'll ask right away and make sure to do his best to resolve it. It surprised Louis that it took so much time to burst open his mouth.

With a sigh, Louis rubs one of his temples with the pads of his fingers. "It isn't like that, Haz."

"It isn't?" Harry snorts. "Alright, then tell me how it is."

Louis wants to call him out for putting him in a corner, but he knows the conversation is long overdue. "I think I'm over Eric as a person. I know I don't want him and if I had the chance to resume our relationship, I wouldn't. It's more like," he waves his hand in the air as he tries to search for the right words. "It's more like the feeling of a relationship missing. Also, I can't stop thinking about what I did wrong?"

Harry gapes at him. "You did nothing wrong," he raps out. "If people can't see how good you are, I say sod them."

"Sod them," Louis repeats to himself.

Harry nods with determination and it looks like his chest is pushed out a tiny bit.

"We could go out and about, if you want?" Louis shrugs. "I know the Warner Brothers studio is across the city, but we could go this Saturday?"

Harry hums. His hands are jammed into the pockets of his tight jeans. "I thought we could do something touristy too, but change of plans. We'll be here for years. We can do tourist things anytime."

"What change of plans?" Louis looks at him quizzically.

An amalgamation of pride of excitement lights up Harry's face. "Let's go to a pub on Friday!"

Louis is already shaking his head, widened eyes and pinched mouth. The horrors of a previous pub-hop played in his mind's eye like a vice. "No. Oh no no no. We're not going to-"

"Oh come off it, Lou," Harry waves him away with a flick of his hand. The conversation was becoming unfit for the front wall of a public library. "That won't happen again. Just because you had one bad experience doesn't mean history is going to repeat itself."

"They do say history repeats itself-"

Harry snaps, "Not the point!" He huffs and looks Louis straight in the eye as if they were discussing an important business transaction and not TGIF recreation. "We're going out Friday evening and that's final. We can take care of our hangovers on Saturday- kip in and all." His face mellows out an uneasy smile. "You can even have an awkward morning after if you choose to get laid. Or an not-so-awkward morning after. You don't even have to bring home someone. It's up to you. If you do, excellent, because-"

"Harry," Louis cuts across before the ramblings become static in his ears. "I dunno if it's a good idea."

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry scowls.

Louis sighs and narrows his eyes at Harry. "You know no one really goes out to find love in a pub? That's stuff for the movies. The kind you watch and make me watch."

The scowl on Harry's face tightens and he looks like a cute rumpled troll. His hair if it were of a different colour, would have made it look uncanny. "You cynics ruin the world, I tell you." He repeats, "We're going and it's final."

"But-"

"It's final," Harry punctuates with gritted teeth. His eyes are almost slits and for barely a second, he looks lethal. "When I say it's final-"

"It's final," Louis finishes with a sigh that he swallows.

Harry's pursed lips pop out into a smile and his dimples make a convenient appearance. The transformation makes Louis's jaw drop even after all these years- how a cherub like him could get away with it all. "Exactly. You know that, Louis. Now... Do we need to go shopping for this or do you have appropriate clothes?"

It doesn't really help with the sinking feeling in Louis's stomach.

　

\---

　

Louis sheepishly tells Zayn and Niall about it over lunch. Naturally, they laugh. They don't just laugh good-naturedly; they slap their knees and laugh _at_ him.

(He definitely needs new friends.)

They're still laughing over it by the time Louis decides to ignore them and scroll through his Facebook. It's all boring; candids of a baby shower, a bunch of blurry selfies and the rest of his feed is filled with drunk people holding up glasses of what looks like absinthe. He exits and contemplates on discreet murder.

He rolls his eyes and looks up from his phone. He grumbles, "Are you two done yet?"

"Not even," Zayn gasps. A tear trickles down the corner of his eye.

Niall's face resembles a tomato and it's nearly surprising when his mouth starts moving. It looks well with the blonde mess of his hair. "This is so much like you, Tomlinson- walking straight into disaster."

Louis purses his lips. "Your support has been impeccable," he says dryly.

"You know how this is going to go," Niall explains as he sobers up. He sighs and there's barely a hint of a smile on his face, though his eyes continue to twinkle. "We all know how this is going to turn out. These adventures that you and Harry seem to get up to while thinking there's no harm... you know what happened last time."

"Niall-" he begins to protest.

Niall barrels on like the good boy he is. "You got terribly steamed-"

"Terribly what?" Louis blanches.

"-and Harry and you went off to proposition a scrawny boy for a threes-"

Louis feels his face heat up. "I was drunk!"

"That's the point," Zayn helpfully provides.

Shaking his head, Louis narrows his eyes at the pair of them. "It's not gonna happen again."

"That's exactly what you said the time before _that_ when you ended up doing a body shot off of a girl," pipes in Zayn.

"Shut up, Zayn," he growls. The memory of that night was one he'd been religiously trying to ignore up until now. He tries not to let out a visible shudder as he matches his gaze with Niall's scrutiny and huffs. "Just because that happened before doesn't mean I'll do something stupid again." He rolls his eyes when he sees Niall's sudden goofy grin. "What is it, Horan?"

Niall simpers on. "Maybe this time you'll wake up the next morning to find Harry in your bed with no pants. Innit, Z?"

Zayn nods sagely. _Bugger._

The weight of Niall's words send a shockwave into Louis. It's a possibility that occurred to him. Sure, he's had his share of daydreams about whisking Harry away into the sunset and kissing him in the rain, but a drunken hook-up never was what he previously considered. As entertaining and alluring as the thought was, he was to kick it out of his head as soon as he could. It might take a while, but he had to.

Niall and Zayn chatter to themselves and laugh more, the topic temporarily forgotten. Zayn animatedly tells them about his end-of-the-year project and just how cool the theme was and Louis tries to smile just like he tries to listen.

Their useless conversation doesn't help with the feeling of unsettlement.

　

\---

　

Two days later when he strides into his room, he finds a messily wrapped present sitting innocently on his bed. It makes him stop in his tracks and leer at it suspiciously. It seems to be consisting of a long, thin box that was plastered to a short, wider box, bound together with golden wrapping paper.

 _Niall must have left it out for me_ , he thinks to himself as he gets closer to his bed. Surprisingly, a yellow Post-It also seemed to be stuck on the top.

 **Surprise, Surprise!** it said in a familiar scrawl. **Better be safe than sorry. -H**

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, dropping his rucksack by the foot of the bed. He picks up the package and shakes it next to his ear; there's a soft rustling sound as well as a tapping. He hums as he takes a seat on his bed and gets into ripping the paper that was abundantly mated with tape. With the final tear, he spots a large word on the front of one of the box. TROJAN, it says.

He drops the package like it's been set on fire. Of course, Harry would do this. Of course, Harry would leave him a box of condoms because he's a good supportive friend.

(The longer box would definitely be lube. Louis bets his sex life on it.)

(As if he has a sex life, ha.)

Screw it. There's no stopping Harry when he's on a roll.

　

\---

　

Niall's words ring in Louis's head for quite some time. Which is why he calls Harry's roommate, Liam as soon as he gets off from class and is walking back to the dorms. His fingers tinker over his phone as he steps into a wad of sleet.

"Ah, bloody hell," he whispers to himself, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. He jerks his leg and watches as the wetness splats away.

Liam's voice comes from his phone. "Hello to you too."

Louis straightens up, taking his phone into his hand. He hadn't realised that the call was lifted. "Sorry, that wasn't for you. You were saying?"

He can practically hear Liam rolling his eyes over the phone. "You're the one who called me, Louis. Hurry up, I have things to do and people to meet."

"Right," he says sardonically. A pebble wedges in the cracks of his shoe sole, he tries to rub it off on the pavement. "Should I make an appointment next time?"

"Very original," Liam says dryly. "The reason you called?"

Louis sighs. His hands feel numb in the wind and he doesn't have money on him to buy a cup of tea by the campus café. "Right," he repeats. "Yes. I was going to ask you something."

"That part has been established, yes."

Louis grits his teeth; he liked Liam much better as the cherub who blushed at every word that came out of Louis's mouth and took shelter in his little turtle shell. Louis has influenced him too much. "I don't know if Harry mentioned it to you, but he's dragging me out on Friday... I was wondering if you wanted to come too."

There are a few beats of silence. "Friday as in tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Louis confirms.

Liam hums in thought. "Harry did mention it," he hums again. "Actually, he more than mentioned it. He won't shut up about it. The chap is too enthusiastic to get some alcohol in his system," he muses. "If I come, do I have to associate with you lot once we get there?"

"Excuse me?" He almost stops in his steps, but he doesn't.

A distorted noise comes from Liam; something that sounds like a whine. "You both are the worst wingmen in history; you and Harry. You either scare all the girls away or you become friends with them- and they obviously forget about me. I would very much like to score by myself this time."

Louis huffs, wanting to protest. Since when did Liam Payne even hint at wanting one night stands. "I resent that very much, Payne-"

"Louis."

"Alright," he mutters. "Just come with us. And stay close so Harry doesn't do something blasphemous."

Liam voice turns a curve. "Only Harry?"

Then, Louis grumbles, "Harry and me. So the both of us don't do anything stupid."

"Like what? Like the last time you both tried to pick up a lad for a three-"

Louis disconnects the call before he can finish. "Why must you keep bringing that up?!" he shrieks at his black screened phone. The short red-headed man walking next to him yelps and scurries away. If anyone else is staring, they scamper to look away when they spot Louis's threatening glare.

　

\---

　

 **H:** Are we going to a gay bar??

Its 1 in the morning haz let me sleep please

 **H:** Louiiiiiisssss

 **H:** Don't be such a grampa

 **H:** Who sleeps at 1 in the morning? sleep is the for a weak

I'm screenshotting this because you'll be singing a different tune during class today

 **H:** ANSWER ME

no

 **H:** Why not?? what about your preferences

we're not because liam wants to pull

 **H:** Liam??

just ask him the morning gotta sleep bye xx

 **H:** Lou

 **H:** Louis????????

 **H:** Asleep already? pillock

　

\---

　

Of course, come Friday, Harry is on the tips of his toes. He's pushing Liam along and ordering Louis around- both of which the both of them don't like. Harry has become a fussy mother, only the kind that encourages you to go out and party.

He tells Liam off for the amount of aftershave on him and struts past lazily even as he can hear the disgruntled grumbling. He makes it point to tell them they're going to pregame with a miniature bottle of rum that won't even make it past their tongues. The general excitement oozing from Harry is annoying, but it's also something to watch. Which is why Louis can't say much when he ruffles through the wardrobes and makes Louis wear extremely tight jeans that have slits cut out across his knees, exposing his pasty skin if he would sit down.

(It reminds Louis of that Ella Henderson [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xgpsVkJb_yE) he won't admit to listening on rainy nights. He also won't admit that the said song reminds him of Harry.)

By the time it's eight o' clock and the sun is no longer keeping up with them, the three of them set out of Harry's room and walk up to the main street where the traffic noises filter in louder with each step they take forward. Being from a small town, it's not something Louis is used to and he reckons it's the same with Harry.

Ironically, Harry brings out The Miniature Rum Bottle and takes the a swig and grins as he passes it to Louis. As Liam politely declines, the bottle is nearly finished by the time it's back in Harry's hands. The pout that comes from him is totally worth.

Problem is, Louis isn't ready for this. He wants Harry to know he's alright; which he is. But, having to prove it like this wasn't anywhere on his agenda. Like all the other boys his age, his libido didn't blast out through the roof. Sex wasn't something he craved, but enjoyed when he could. He definitely wasn't the type to hunt someone to get off with. Sure, he liked when he could put his hand up that girl's skirt in secondary school, the two guys with whom he's shared cheeky snogs and probably even a grope. The two week fling with his lab partner was cool and so was whatever happened in his so-called relationship with Eric. But, it never felt like it was _necessary_.

Louis didn't know how to tell Harry that. He didn't know how to tell him that he was probably one of the only people who didn't think sex was never enough. Perhaps he could just find a fit guy to snog and be done for the night. For the time being, he looks out at the street lights, listens to the car honks and hums to himself.

As expected of Harry, he makes them walk all the way. Even though it's short walk, Louis groans about it for most of the way, Liam butting in occasionally to tell him to shut up. Five minutes later, Harry is forced to break up their bickering. Before they know it, they're standing before the neon sign that says "Luminosity". Music vibrates to the outsides and Louis can catch pieces of a familiar song as they walk towards the entrance. The bouncer and his rippling arms look at them with suspicion as they stride in nonchalantly.

The pub has undergone renovation since he's been there about a couple of months ago, Louis notices. There are more people and a highlighted bar as well as better lighting; in strings of dark blue and yellow. He takes in a deep breath, notices that the other two are off in the front and scurries to catch up with them.

"This place still looks sick," Harry mumbles as he looks around. He flicks his head back at Liam and Louis. "Should I get drinks or food?"

"I know what you're gonna do, and let me tell you, Harry; you're not good at flirting with the bartender," Louis deadpans. "Also, I can see his silver fox beard from a kilometre away. You want to chat up that?"

Harry frowns and tries to glare at Louis. "I'm still going to get drinks. What do you want?"

"Nothing," Liam answers quickly. "Not drinking as usual." He looks at the other two with beady eyes. "And I don't want to witness this strange mating ritual of yours that you always have. I'll be off and you can do what your heart pleases. You can phone me in case of emergency. I mean emergencies only. Don't go off doing body shots and asking people for-"

"Will you let that go?!" Louis bellows, but it's barely audible over the music.

Harry throws his head back to giggle and Louis is too entranced to notice Liam has skived off already.

"Do you wanna do shots?" The residual bit of laughter drained into a smile that quirked one side of Harry's lips.

Louis shakes his head and clenches his jaw. "Nothing heavy today. I'll just have a glass in me hand to look less like a plonker." He pops his lips, looking around, craning his neck. "I'll be sitting over there," he points to a table in the corner. "Get me a G&T. You can get yourself a round of shots and I'll watch you."

Harry looks dubious. "Are you sure you don't want anything else?"

"I feel like I need Absinthe sometimes to deal with Liam," he shrugs. "But, naah. Not really."

Another laugh bubbles out of Harry as he walks away, hips swinging. Louis turns away as quickly as he can before he gets stuck ogling. He sits at the table, tracing the wood on top and singing under his breath when a girl comes up to him barely a minute later. "Can I help you?" He asks, just to be polite.

She takes a seat in Harry's unassigned chair and leans forward over the table top. Her hair reaches the middle of her back and falls onto her face; which she effortlessly blows away with the side of her mouth. "You havin' a good time?"

He can immediately place the accent. "I suppose I am," he furrows his eyebrows and smirks. "You from Newcastle?"

The girl's lipstick mouth stretches into an impressed smile. "Ding, ding, ding!" she sings. "I know, us Geordies are known for the cute accent." This time she brushes back her hair with the back of her hand. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Louis waves a hand in the air. "That's alright. Me friend's gone to get me one."

The girl looks like she's going to protest, but Harry pops in like the lifesaver he is. He grins as he comes to stand between them at the table. "Guess who succeeded in flirting with the bartender and getting us frees shots? Me!" He puts down two glasses; one that looks like Louis's drink and something else that's blue. He also lowers two tiny salt-rimmed shot glasses of clear liquid and slices of lemon. All from his ginormous hands.

"That's great, love," Louis smiles at him.

Harry beams and notices the girl just then, bobbing his head out. "Hello there."

The girl purses her lips and points a manicured nail from Harry to Louis. "Sorry, are you both-"

Louis cuts across. "We get that a lot, but no," he glances at Harry and tries to smile wider. "But, that being said, I'm still an uphill gardener. I hope you don't feel like you wasted your time."

"Uphill gard-" The lipstick mouth stops speaking and opens in surprise. "Oh. _Oh_."

Louis cackles and nods.

The girl laughs as well and gets up from the seat. She stumbles forward and kisses Louis's cheek. "Still nice to meet you, Mister Uphill Gardener." And she saunters away just as she came.

Harry plops down in the previously taken seat. "So, dramatic," he mutters, reaching for his blue margarita. "You can't say queer like normal people, you have to say _uphill gardener_." His rolling eyes are seen through the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. "Nobody says that anymore, Lou."

"It sounds more subtle, Harold. Something you're never capable of." He gestures at Harry's drink. "Not drinking heavy tonight?"

Harry shakes his head.

"Didn't feel like it." As he speaks, Louis can see the blue on his tongue. He kind of wants to taste it. He looks down at his own glass, and sees it's nearly over. Surely, half a glass wasn't going to give him haywire thoughts. He blinks hard and inserts himself into the conversation they're having. "If girls keep coming up to you, we're all doomed. If I hang around with you, fifty percent of my interests will be unavailable because they'll be into you." He says it cheekily, it makes Louis blush. "Have mercy, Louis."

"What can I say," he pretends to sigh long-sufferingly. "Besides, there's plenty of blokes out there. If not girls, you have blokes, mate. You have a good number of options."

Harry shrugs, his eyes trained seriously on Louis.

　

\---

　

True to Harry's words, two more girls come to Louis and he tries to tell them as politely as he can that he plays for the same team. Right after the third girl leaves, Louis marches up to the bar and buys himself a Cosmo and sips it slowly at the table, looking around. It wasn't even about getting off with a guy now; more like a challenge to prove he could attract guys. And he thought he looked gay enough.

In the middle, Harry supportively leaves to indirectly chat men up for Louis, but comes back with no result. Wingmaning was useless anyway and made no sense. But, that doesn't stop Harry from going out and scavenging for more.

A man looking like he's in his late fifties comes to table. He has a laughing moustache and he winks at Louis as he squeezes his thigh. Louis can't tell if he wants to laugh or be mortified. He declines the invitation when the man says he has a nice hot-tub at home.

Just as Louis's starting to think, boys might come around with the stroke of luck from that man, he pedals back in and two _more_ women try chatting him up. He doesn't even bother thinking about how brash he is when he tells them that he's gay in their face. He's finished three more Cosmos and he's tipsy and he's doubting if he looks gay at all? Maybe he has to sit up straighter? Or keep his wrists limp? Or he should have dressed differently?

He follows Harry's mantra for once, thinks _sod it_ and leaves the table.

\---

　

After officially giving up, Louis makes his way to the men's room. All the lewd noises seem to come from the ladies, which he's grateful for. He doesn't think he can handle anymore crap from the mocking day. At least, he's sure there's no one going at in the men's bathroom.

He takes time to wee and stares at himself with disgust, entirely too long as he washes his hand. Maybe it's not his day.

He's brushing back his sweaty fringe with his jeans-dried hands when Harry pushes into the room. There's a prickle of dread that passed through Louis when he realises Harry must have brought along someone for a quickie in the bathroom stalls.

But when the door slams shut after Harry, Louis nearly sighs out of relief. "What's up," he asks casually. He drops into a shrug of his shoulders a little too late to look effective.

"I was looking for you," Harry breaths. They peer at each other through the mirror. His eyes are drooping and his face looks blurry through Louis's gaze. "Why aren't you out there?"

Maybe he's too drunk for this conversation. Without crying, at least. He can feel the good side of dizziness swaying him in his spot. He turns around and leans back and grips the granite sink counter to hold himself upright. "I don't really wanna... I don't think I'm feeling it. Erm. If you wanna- if you... With anyone, then I can wait. We'll leave after you're done."

Harry frowns, perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

"You're so daft, Hazza," Louis laughs uncomfortably. "If you wanna you know, get it on with someone. You can. I'll wait. You can give me a call after that and all."

"What?!" Harry furrows his eyebrows and walks closer. "We came here for you. You're supposed to get laid, you pillock."

"Yeah, but..." Louis sighs, looking down at his shoes. "No one really wants me, so."

Harry's features soften. "Louis..."

Louis laughs self deprecatingly. "It's okay, Harry. Today's just not me day."

Harry bites his lip and for a blinding second, he looks irresistible in his youth and golden heart. It doesn't frighten Louis like it normally does, when it does in times that he pushes away and turns away from it. All those drinks must have turned off his sensibility and increased the don't-care factor. Because for one, Louis can't make himself think straight and be rational.

Then, Harry is suddenly speaking and Louis had forgotten they were in the middle of a conversation. "You got hit on by a lot of girls."

Louis is too busy being dazed to roll his eyes. "Yeah, well, girls don't exactly fulfill my requirements." He tries to shrug nonchalantly. "Duh," he adds in a small voice.

Shaking his head, Harry strides even closer, but perhaps not close enough. From so far, Louis can feel them sharing the same air and he can see the glint in his eyes and the mole by Harry's chin and probably the smell of blueberry margarita in his breath is clouding up all of Louis's thoughts to taste it. But, it isn't enough. Not even nearly.

Harry raises a hand up to card it through his hair like he does when he's usually bashful. "I-I thought I was gonna. I thought I was going to walk into a corner- and, and find you. With another bloke. I was scared I was going to-" he cuts himself off with a groan.

"That you were going walk into something you didn't want to see, right, Haz?" He laughs uncomfortably. It sounds nothing like him as he pushes the sound out through his dry throat. "Because seeing your best mate in a compromising position would make you want to gauge your eyes out?" He steels himself. "Right?"

"No- um, yeah. It's just that-" All the words from Harry's mouth come out in a slur. He exhales forcefully and looks the latter straight in the eye with an exasperated frown. "Louis."

They stare at each other for a long time. Probably too long. Louis can hear his own heartbeat in his ears and he can feel his alcohol and adrenaline spiked blood rushing throughout him. He couldn't tell what they were quite doing, but he didn't want the suspended moment to end. Maybe it was the break where Louis could say it all. _I liked you a point_ , he wants to say. _I don't think I ever subconsciously stopped. And if you let me, I might love you in a while._

It might not be the right thing to say, but he wanted it out all in the open. For the first time, he wanted to be raw and exposed, he wanted Harry to see all the parts he had kept hidden. It probably wasn't even the right time to say anything at all. But, Louis wants it. He wants to be the cliché who fell for his best friend. He wants to be proud of it.

He doesn't know who leans in first, but suddenly they're kissing.

Louis feels like all of Harry's molecules have pushed into his own before displacing back and it leaves him with a pleasant buzz. The hairs on his arms have stood up ever since he caught onto the brush of Harry's tongue against his own. And, _oh god_ , they were _snogging_. Louis didn't care if he couldn't feel his lips or if he wasn't being a perfect kisser. He doesn't remember kissing anyone else; all the knowledge he's had flew out of his ears the minute Harry's hands had wandered up to his face.

Keep going, the alcohol told him, and he listened. Harry's mouth was warm and he tasted of berries and spice and everything else could go screw itself. Louis manages to flip them around and have Harry caged against the cold granite. Harry's lush mouth falls open with a gasp and his hands fall to Louis's sides. It shakes Louis to the inside. He can't bloody _handle_ this. He can't handle Harry narrowed to this point of his vision.

He pulls back to look Louis in the eye. Hunger settles on his features and he waits with anticipation until Louis claims him again, their mouths equally eager and fighting. Harry only separates from him for a bare second to hoist himself up onto the counter between two sinks, wraps his legs around Louis's waist and tugs him closer with his calves. _Jesus._

Louis resented that his best mate was already an inch taller than him. But, this was utter injustice. Harry was poised on the counter, a smug grin adorning his swollen lips while Louis tries to desperately reach for his mouth. He's making Louis work for it as if him as a vision wasn't enough. He simply chuckles when Louis growls under his breath. The simper is wiped off his lips when Louis yanks him down by the shirt and swallows Harry's hitched breath.

(He was wrong. He was _so_ wrong. He didn't think sex was unnecessary. Maybe it was unnecessary with everyone but Harry.)

But apparently, Louis wasn't the only keen one, Harry makes a wounded noise between them and snakes his arms around his waist and push in, flush to the counter till Louis's hipbones are being poked. Louis can't bother with it, he can't- doesn't want to consider the pain. If this is his only chance, he's going to kiss Harry like he'll never get to kiss anyone else. If they're not going to kiss, he wants their faces pressed together. He wants the sweat from Harry's face all over his own and he wants to feel the heat Harry's cheeks against his nose and he doesn't ever want to stop touching.

Harry's fingers crawl down to a silver of his exposed skin just above his trousers and Louis can't help but arch his back in and let out a strangled sound. "I've always- I always wanna touch you, Lou," Harry murmurs, it's lulling. "I want to touch you and it drives me crazy. I just want to- _you_ drive me crazy."

"What's stopping you?" Louis breaths against him. He reaches behind him to grasp Harry's hands and pushes them up and under his shirt.

Harry sobs as his cold hands touch the hot skin. He looks like he's going to cry before his forehead falls against the junction between Louis's neck and shoulder. He presses a light kiss there which makes a wild shiver run through Louis's body. "Can we go back to the dorms?" Harry's voice is hoarse and his hands roam up and down the expanse of the latter's back. "Louis, can we? Louis. Please? Please. Let's go. Take me back to the dorms. _Please_."

Louis has to take a moment to process those words. "Yeah," he replies finally, breathlessly. "Let's go." He manages to pull Harry down to his feet and there's a brief second where they meet eyes and Louis tries to find Harry's face and when he can't, he intertwines their hands and tugs him out of the bathroom.

The bar is still crowded- even more so. It looks just like it did before; people are wobbling around like they're trying to dance. The same song is playing as before and drinks are being spilt on the floor and some or the other person is slipping on them and falling. It's almost like nothing changed at all which makes him doubt if time had actually stopped in the bathroom. Louis hopes it isn't a dream.

The both of them rush out into the outside, cool air wrapping around them as they step onto the hard pavement. Louis's head is floating and he can't see straight, but he stretches an arm out for a taxi and miraculously, a vehicle screeches to a stop by them. Harry's eyes are laughing and he pulls Louis towards the taxi and they fall inside. Louis can feel the cabbie glance at them dubiously as he mutters out the address. He decides against snogging Harry in the backseat as much he wants to. He squeezes their hands because he doesn't which hand is his. He smiles at Harry and looks out the window, trying to collect himself.

Before he even realises it, they're before their hostel and turns to see Harry fast asleep, looking so small and young, curled up into the corner of the seat. Louis can't help but smile to himself. He quickly pays the cabbie and scoops Harry out while heaving. He makes it past the unsmiling security guard and all the way to Harry's room without falling. His arms ache but he doesn't have a choice and he doesn't really want one.

He's only a tiny bit disappointed that the night didn't go anywhere, but in the end, he got to kiss Harry and that's probably the highlight- of his _life_. He drops Harry onto his feet and let's his fall against his side as he brings out the spare key from above the doorframe and jams it into the keyhole as fast as he can. The door falls open and they stumble into the room as Harry lets out a groan.

Thankful that Liam hasn't come home yet, Louis drags him to his bed and lays Harry askew upon it and pushes his legs up till their lying prostrate. He takes off Harry's shoes, pausing to think over if he should remove Harry's clothes as well. As much he knows that Harry likes to sleep naked, he decides against stripping. After the whole night, it didn't seem right even though it wasn't anything wrong.

He switches on the ceiling fan, pulls the covers over Harry and smooths his hair back. Louis finds himself chuckling at Harry's emphatic snores. Harry looks at peace despite his drawn eyebrows and the occasional smack of his lips. It almost makes Louis want to slide in beside him and wake up to the morning of him.

But, that would be a crossing a line.

(As if he hasn't crossed so many already...)

More so, he doesn't have the right. Harry wouldn't want this. He'll probably wake up thinking it's a drunken snog and they'll laugh about it over breakfast. Harry will want someone who he'll like. He won't settle for just someone. He won't settle for Louis. Harry deserves it- to love and be loved.

He tries not to feel like the world is crashing down on him as he leaves.

　

\---

　

At around eleven o'clock the next morning, Louis is nursing a hangover that seems untamable even when supplied with greasy McDonald's burgers and two hot long showers. Every time he's off to barf out the alcohol in his system, Niall simply sits on his side of the room and winces rhythmically. He needs better friends. Ones who won't laugh in his face and probably help in curing his god-awful hangovers.

(Not to the mention the impending heartache.)

It's the second thought in his head the minute he walks up. His head is running on a loop of _IkissedHarry_ and even the weird well-wishing voice in the back of his head sounds like it's gone off the rails, and that's saying something. Even the optimistic side of his head looks like it's thrown in the towel. He can only hope they'll get past this with Louis's head still cemented on his neck.

For so long, he'd kept it all repressed. He didn't tell anyone; not even his mum, who he told everything to. It took him a couple of months after that to even admit that he has some sort of feelings towards Harry that weren't even close to platonic. When he was sure they were buried deep down somewhere, Louis had found Eric, who was up for something and he didn't even seem to notice the fact that Louis just needed a relationship to reassure himself. Louis continued to look at Harry silently and let his fondness grown like vines around his heart. Yesterday was merely a wakeup call that said he was simply fooling himself from the very start.

He needed to get this over. One talk with Harry and that would determine the need to crush down his feelings. He couldn't go through pining once again, it took so much time from him. Just one strong verbal denial from Harry and it would be enough to lock it all up and shove it into a dark corner of his mind.

Maybe, he could laugh about this is in a couple of years. That he had liked Harry Styles in a way that friends don't. Maybe they could laugh about a long time from now when they're flipping bangers on a barbecue. Maybe he could think of university in his rocking-chair days and remember how silly he was for thinking he was falling for his best-friend.

(Or maybe not. Maybe he won't stop until it's all he has. Maybe he'll regret not telling Harry at some point. Maybe, he'll see Harry and Somebody dancing to _Kiss Me_ by the Sixpence None the Richer at their wedding while Louis bitterly drinks from his champagne flute...)

 _Snap out of it_ , that voice reminds him.

Louis shakes his head and breaks out of his reverie to find himself curled up on his bed, knees to chest. He sighs and palms around under the blanket for his cell phone until he find it. He sighs and types in the message and sends it without an afterthought. This was it, the big reveal would be soon. He was to face the music before it got any worse.

He looks back at his phone, tendrils of lament crawling up towards his throat. The words from his fingers flash menacingly at him.

**We need to talk. My room at 4. See you. -LT**

　

\---

　

"So..." Harry trails off.

Louis looks up and stares at him, in a way that's supposed to encourage him and also dare him to go on. "Yes?" He asks expectantly. One of his eyebrows raises automatically as he gives Harry an onceover again.

Harry had arrived about ten minutes ago, tucking himself into a corner of Louis's bed against the wall wordlessly after entering. He didn't even seem inquisitive when Louis hadn't offered any tea from his shoddy kettle. Now they were sat across each other, Louis in Niall's unmade bed and Harry in Louis's bed.

(Ha ha. He wishes.)

"Are we going to talk?" Harry asks. He grimaces immediately, like he realizes how barmy he sounds. Which; he does.

Pretending to think it over, Louis replies with all the flourish he can conjure. "Should we talk? Should we be talking. Hmm. Seemingly, that's something people do. Talk."

Harry scowls at him. "If this is your backlash for last night- if you think acting tough will get you somewhere, you're wrong." He watches Louis with concealed trepidation. "You hate confrontation, so what am I doing here? Why did you call me?"

Louis shakes his head at him. "I'm trying to clear the air, Styles." He pauses for a minute, wetting his lips. He wonders if addressing it explicitly will do any good. "Last night was a mess, honestly. We shouldn't let it affect us. We should give ourselves the chance to get over it and carry on. This is that chance."

Both of Harry's brows slant down into his nose. His grip in his knees turns white. "A mess, was it?" He chuckles bitterly. "And that's why you want us to..." he laughs now, and it sounds absolutely acidic. "So, you don't want me to tell you that you're a good snog?"

Louis narrows his eyes at him.

"That I could _feel_ how good it felt for you when you pressed up against me?" Harry's eyes are angry but his mouth defies him with a maniacal smile. "That you would've given in right there, if I asked you to and let me-"

"Harry," Louis says with a warning in his voice.

Each word from Harry's mouth falls out louder and louder, growing with spite. Like he's trying to hurt Louis. Why would he do that. "That you lost it at how I sounded? That you let me put my hands on your naked skin and you liked it? That you were _dying_ for it?"

Before he knows it, Louis sees red and suddenly he's off the bed and on his own, crowding Harry against the wall than he already is. His hands are bunched in Harry's shirt, clutching it like he wanted to rip the latter to shreds. Maybe it was justified. He was just so angry. At himself, at Harry, at the bleeding world. "Shut up," he snarls, spit flying. Harry's gaze is uninterrupted and that fires his anger. "Shut up!"

Harry pushes back with a hand on Louis's chest. "If I don't? Will you hit me? Do you have the capacity to do that? Could you hit me without regretting it after?"

Honestly, Louis knows the answer to that. The whole world knew the answer to that. Of course he couldn't not regret it. Not when he didn't even what to hit Harry in the first place. He loosens his grip on Harry's shirt, lets out a sigh and shuffles away till he's sitting next to Harry. He brings his knees to his chest, leans on the wall. He sighs at the ceiling. "No, I couldn't. I didn't even think of hitting you."

"Thank god," Harry mutters.

Out of all days of his anger and his pain, Louis's eyes choose that moment to start tearing up. He hates it; looking vulnerable or feeling vulnerable. He hates that he wants to curl up under his bed and never come out. He hates that sometimes, he wishes he'd never met Harry because, everything just...sucks. Because everything seems cocked up. "You can't..." he starts off in a meek voice. He has to clear his dry throat and hold in the waterworks. "You can't say those things like that. You can't throw them around like it's nothing. Harry, you just can't say..."

"Because you're ashamed of me?" Harry asks. His fieriness is gone, replaced by a wet voice and a face that is downcast. "Since I'm a nerd, I'm embarrassing and clumsy-"

"Jesus, no," Louis lets out a self-deprecating laugh that is watery. He chortles by accident. "None of that, Harry. That isn't even true. You're- You're perfect. You're nearly perfect. Obviously," he shrugs at the end because he's supposed to be nonchalant.

Harry stares at the side of his face for a long burning time. He then reaches for Louis's hand, but Louis's jerks away before they can even touch.

"Don't," he snaps. "I don't want your pity."

"I'm not-"

"Whatever, Harry," he tries to say as coldly as he can. He simply feels weak on the inside. "I can tell that you're taking the mickey out of me, but, I don't care, yeah? You can take jabs at me and you can tell the lads and hell, you can tell the whole world and I'm not going to do anything. Nothing at all. I'm tired. I don't care."

Everything he's saying sounds like he's telling himself, like he's trying to convince himself. Because in the end, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, it was painfully true. "The thing is, Harry..." He finds himself saying. The words fly out before he can stop them. He reckons there's no stopping since he's opened up the Pandora's box. "I didn't want this. I didn't want to end up snogging you in a dodgy bathroom or go through a period of dramatic heartbreak and I didn't want you to nurse it. I didn't want to move away from home with the only familiar thing that is you and I didn't want this, alright?" He's breathless and the tears are so close to falling and he can't stop looking at the damp patch on the ceiling. "I didn't want to like you. I didn't want to realize that I liked you. I don't want to fall in love with you. I want you to be my friend and forget this. And I know that's impossible."

Harry whispers his name.

"So, yeah," Louis says emptily. "The thing is; I don't want to want you, Harry Edward. But, I do. And god, help me."

It's all out there, in the open. Like he had wished yesterday. He thought he would feel the burden slip off his shoulders when he would say everything but, it doesn't feel like that. The heaviness in his heart has grown and something is clogged up in his airways since air didn't seem to exist. He feels like all the heat inside him might leak out through his fingertips.

He jumps off the bed as fast as he can without tripping, in rhythm with the loud drumming of his heart. Even as tendrils of anxiety try to wrap around his ankles and pull him back in, he manages to get to the door. When he rushing into the outside, the air doesn't still seem enough.

Hence, he runs. He runs and runs and runs. He hopes he doesn't have to see Harry when he gets back.

(He doesn't.)

　

\---

 

A seventeenth yawn escapes Louis's mouth by seven in the evening. It's too early to go to kip and he's waiting up on Niall for about ten minutes to come back with a refill of beer. Honestly, Louis wanted something more pungent like whiskey, but whiskey always left him in tears. He didn't need more reason to cry than he already did.

When he had come back at half past five from his powered up run, there was no trace of Harry in his room- which gave him the urge to sleep off his exhaustion as well as his melancholy. He woke up to the sound of Niall setting up Mario kart on the telly his parents had gifted him (lucky lad, him) and Louis dove into playing video games and drinking his weight in beer just to not think.

Soon enough, they had ran out beer and Niall like the good lad he was offered to get some before he skived off. Which left Louis alone. Not really, alone, since Louis had his despicable thoughts with him.

He permanently destroyed his relationship with Harry, and he was sure of it.

( _Shut up_ , the voice said. _You're making it worse._ )

He should be listening but his head wasn't stopping from being a spinning wheel and honestly, he wanted to wallow. He hadn't let himself wallow in a while and he was starting to like the feeling no matter how down it put him.

What he didn't understand was how Harry reacted. He was not too drunk to remember Harry being all over him the previous night and yet the way he had described it all in the afternoon was like he was trying to poke Louis with his hot iron words. Almost like he was trying to set Louis off or hurt him. But, Harry would never do that.

It didn't sit right with him.

The sound of the lock turning breaks him out of his reverie and he sits up straighter and scrubs his face to make himself presentable before Niall came skipping in.

But. It isn't Niall at the door when it swings open. It's Harry; he's smiling in an eerie nervous fashion, clad in a blazer with a white shirt underneath and a pair of dark skinny jeans. His hair is smoothed into distinct curls by hair product and he's holding an overflowing bouquet of what look like white chrysanthemums. He looks like he's walked straight out of a telly advertisement.

And there Louis was, in three day old sweatpants, beer down his rumpled shirt, disheveled hair with legs thrown apart as he sat on the ground, gawking at this demigod-ly thing in front of him.

(Idiot. Close your mouth.)

He manages to do just that as Harry steps foot into the room and says, "I'm here to take you on a date."

All coherence that Louis has tried to maintain flies out the window. "A what?"

"A date," repeats Harry boldly. "Or rather, make you take me on one."

Louis gapes at him without blinking. "A date?"

"Yes," Harry answers patiently. When he gets no reply, he goes on. "Harry Styles can be an utter plonker. I'm here for compensation."

A better part of Louis face even though he's trying to play it cool, goes through a series of uncontrollable expressions and settles on something between surprise and shock. "Who are you, then?"

Harry smiles cheekily. "'M name's Harold."

"Harold?"

"Yes, siree, I like pina coladas and being treated good on dates," he continues smiling and Louis doesn't know if he should find it scary or endearing. He saunters forward and pulls Louis to his feet before he can protest. "Let's get you dressed. I can't have you looking like that on this when we go out."

"Harry-"

"Harold," corrects Harry.

Louis hesitates for just a second. "Harold. Where are we going?"

"That's a surprise," he mutters as he shuffles through Louis's wardrobe, eyes calculating over all the clothes in disarray. He picks out a slightly ironed white dress shirt and grey trousers and slaps them against Louis's chest. "Go wear these." He immediately find a pair of braces and throws them at Louis in delight. "These too!"

"These?!" Louis scoffs. When Harry glowers at him, he begrudgingly struts to the bathroom and pulls the clothes on. He's still confused but he sort of does want to go this 'date' and he'll play along if he has to. He snaps on the braces and folds his sleeves up. Then, he artfully messes up his hair, smoothed his eyebrows out and licks his lips. All set.

Once he comes out, Harry gives him an impressed once over. "Don't you look like a dog's dinner," he muses. Then, Louis has barely a minute before he snatches up his wallet and Harry pulls him out the door.

　

\---

　

"A bus? We're going on a _bus_?" Louis is the picture of incredulity, eyes bulging out at Harry's face.

Harry shrugs and grabs his wrist, pulling him through the automatic doors of the bus. "What do you think, Lou? We're broke uni students _and_ we still have to pay for the date."

Louis stumbles in and collapses into a seat by the window, waiting to say something till Harry settles down next to him. "The date?"

"Yes, the date. You thought we weren't gonna split the cheque? Because that's the mature thing to do."

Shaking his head, Louis says, "No, I meant- you've not told me where we're going and what we're doing."

"There's something called a surprise. I'm sure you know what that means," Harry muses with a lopsided grin.

They end up going to a tiny but cozy hole-in-the-wall restaurant. The ambience is good and they manage to get a table near a long window that allows the moonlight to wash over the table cloth. And Harry won't stop grinning and he put his hand on the table like he wants Louis to hold it. And dammit, does Louis.

Louis looks at them as a whole; dressed to the nines while they just ordered pizza and bacon waffles. But, there's something about it. He loves that Harry is throwing him off and he can't wait for the rest of the night even if it meant there were doing nothing after leaving the restaurant. He doesn't want the night to end either.

Just as the waitress sets down their coffee and leaves with the promise of their waffles, Harry produces a tiny notepad and places it next to his fork on the table. He flips through it and looks back at Louis. "So, Louis. Tell me what is your favourite colour."

Louis scrunches his eyebrows at him. "Red. But, you already knew that."

"Harry knows all of that," he muses. "I am Harold. I'm trying to be a good date. I'm trying to get to know you."

Louis rolls his eyes, and doesn't stop his smile. "Did you Google 'first-date questions' and write them down to ask me?"

Harry sputters.

There's steaming waffles come up, and between enjoying their savoury taste and feeling on top of the world, Louis throws jabs at Harry. The rest of the meal, Harry asks him questions he knows the answers to and pretends to be surprised every time Louis tells him something. He acts like he doesn't know all the anecdotes Louis tells him and...

Louis's heart feels light, no longer sitting with the acid in his stomach, but floating in his chest and he thinks he'll be fine if he bursts.

　

\---

　

Harry insists on paying for the meal despite the arguments from Louis and he walks them down another street and takes turns into alleys that get narrower. When he abruptly comes to a stop, Louis bumps into his back, their entwined hands twisting their arms and gripping tight. "I knew it," Louis mutters. "The objective of the evening was to kill me. This the best place you found?"

"Shut up," Harry glares at him passingly and nods up at the sign to the left. "This date isn't over, Louis."

Louis follows his gaze until he sees the said sign. 'All Night, All Clay' in fancy font, 'Pottery classes for the sleepless and the night crawlers'. It says the timings and contact details below that. "You never cease to surprise me, Harry. Seriously? Pottery class?"

"I told you, it's Harold," he quips. "Why not pottery class? I signed up for the trial class and we can always come back if you like it." He looks up at the building with a half smile. "I'd like to take a chance to look at you with your sleeves rolled up and your hands dirty."

Louis digests the words and the tail end of a smirk eases onto his mouth. "That so?"

Harry must have realised what he just said. His cheeks turn ruddy and he frowns, pulling Louis's hand towards the entrance. "Let's get inside."

The room that they enter is spacious, toasty even when they take off his coats. In the centre, a group of people of all ages are bent over miniature mechanical wheels provided to them, all seated on the carpet on the ground. Accents of jazz music fill the air and waver away. The instructor happened to be a tall lithe man wearing purple yoga pants and jumps up as he notices them. He claps his hands and walks over to them. "May I help you?" He says in a voice that's shockingly deep.

"Yes, I booked a class. Under Harry Styles?" Every word from Harry's mouth oozed confidence. The place smelled of hipster and Louis could already sense it from the pun on the signboard outside.

The instructor claps his hands together once more. "Ahh, yes. The trial class?"

"That's the one."

Instructor swipes his hand out and towards him, walking backward. "Follow me, I'll set you two up." He takes them into a subdivision of the room and gestures at a white marble countertop. "Your aprons are right there. You can put them on, or if you aren't very sure of yourself, you can use a smock instead. Up to you." He then points to the sinks to the right. "One mandatory rule; your hands must be wet. Normally, we dip our arms in mud water but this'll do. You must bath your hand all the way to your elbows in water before practicing on the wheel. This will help shaping of the clay better and if any excess pieces get on you, you can easily wash it away. Any queries?"

Both of them shake their heads.

"Excellent. I'll be out setting up your wheel and I'll assist you through your tutorial once you come out."

They tug each other's aprons on and tied them up for each other. After soaking their arms in water thoroughly, they exit to find the instructor wave at them from the far left, away from the group. He sits in front of a spinning yellow disk, beside which the either of them take seats. The instructor then slaps a mound of sludgy clay on the moving disk. He demonstrates on how to shape it into a vase and leaves them to themselves.

As beginners in that sort of thing, they mess up quite a few times. Louis ends up flinging pieces of clay at Harry's face and Harry pretends that it's accident when he smudges some over Louis's arm. They're mature enough to not start a clay fight then and there. After trying for three times to make a good vase, and making it fall apart and bend over every time, they finally get it into a dodgy shape after the fourth time.

They take their wobbly vase to the front desk and they're promised to have it fired and can come by the next day to glaze it and pick it up. The pair of them leave the building arguing about the colour of glaze their vase should have. They settle on green and blue.

　

Later, they walk around in the night of London, the noises of traffic slowly drowning out before reaching the midnight hour. They find an ice cream parlour impromptu and Harry lets Louis pay for the dessert. They sit at the lone table in a corner, no one else but a worker in the place. For some reason, Louis did reject the idea of getting a cone, instead the both of them enjoying double value scoops. It was eerily quiet. There was the squeaky sound of an employee cleaning down the work platform and the mumbled chime of music in the background for some reason, Louis could hear his own heart beating in his chest.

He clears his throat and looks down at his cup where his mint chocolate chip turned into a green goo. "So... I like today. It was fun."

"Yeah," Harry nods, his spoon is paused in his cup and looks up at Louis either in plea or as if he's trying to look through him. "Me too. I had a good time."

"I like you, Harold," Louis teases. "Too bad Harry couldn't come instead. He missed out on a lot."

Ducking his head, Harry's Adam's apple bob and Louis's eyes track the moment. "Yeah. Uhm, yeah. Harry's stupid." He sounds like he has more to say and Louis hums encouragingly for him to go on, trying to ease his neck down low enough to meet Harry's eyes on his downcast face. "I uhm," Harry shakes his head, hand smoothing back his curls and he looks up finally with a frown. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

Harry smiles as if to break the tension inside him. He leans in, across the table. "I'm actually Harry. I pretended to be Harold so I can take you out."

Louis's lip spread out into a grin. "I know," he says through a mouthful of bared teeth.

"You're okay with that?"

"Yes," He nods enthusiastically. He pushes away his cup of ice cream pool and tries to study Harry. Perhaps, he was being serious- by differentiating Harry and Harold like they were two different people. Maybe, that was a way Harry was trying to show him something. Louis no longer had any doubt that Harry didn't like him back; and he loved that it was reciprocated. "I knew I was going out with Harry when you came over to drag me out. I came because I would never go out with Harold- because I don't know who he is. All I could see was Harry just trying to impress me while... I was already impressed. I like Harry- he tries to be funny and he's kind and considerate and he's my best friend and he's the one..." he cuts himself off as his voice breaks. "But, Harold is just a part of him and I like him too. As an addition of what Harry can be."

Harry stares at Louis.

(The silence isn't even awkward. Louis stares right back at Harry. And this wasn't one of them moments, but it felt like those suspended times. And he just wanted to talk again and for Harry to reply, but goddamit he can't feel his sodding tongue.)

"It's just that..." Harry trails off and sighs. "You said you didn't want it. You didn't want this- you and me. I know why you think that, trust me, I understand. That was me for a long time whenever I'd look at you and it was killing me." He sighs one more time and he swallows, looking down at his cup. "I stopped feeling like that when you kissed me and I wanted to tell you." His hand stretches over the table and grips Louis's. "I wanted to, Louis. I was so overwhelmed, I should have told you on the spot but I'm an idiot and we should have done this a long time ago."

"Harry," Louis says and he doesn't know why.

Shaking his head, Harry squeezes his hand and pulls it away. "You said you didn't want this. You said you wanted me to be your best friend. I am, Lou. I will always be your best friend first. But, I can't forget. Not after that." His face scrunches up before smoothening out. "I wanted to give you something you thought you didn't want and show you, that you do. Just like me."

Louis can't help but stare at this _entity_ sitting across him. He feels anger and frustration, a tinge of sadness. He's so exasperated with himself and at Harry. If this was something he's been looking for a long time, he doesn't want to grasp it. The persistent anger he's holding begins ebbing away but doesn't rid him of itself. Things like this were for the dreams. Blink and they'll be gone.

So, that's what Louis does; he blinks. He can still feel the warmth of Harry's hand over his.

Chest falling in relief, Louis lets out a little laugh. "Let's get home, yeah? Let me drop you to your doorstep like the gentleman I am."

Harry's smile is worth every turmoil he's ever gone through.

　

\---

　

They're standing in front of Harry's room door and Louis can't stop looking at Harry. If this all turns out to be a dream, he's going to cherish it and lock it away from his demons. Question is, what should he be doing? What would be correct?

"This is me," Harry explains, gesturing at the door.

Louis laughs softly, eyes crinkling but steady on the latter. "I know that."

"That you do."

Shuffling feet, Louis hopes he can cut through the heaviness in the air with a piece of his courage. Something he doesn't have at all. His eyes trace over Harry's hair, his glittering eyes, the curve of his bitten lips, the line of his jaw- pulled back to the enticing red of his mouth. The lines had blurred down a while ago and he couldn't tell if the ball was in Harry's court or his.

(He liked them messy like this. He could take all he wanted and he could give all he wanted.)

If he could just be bloody do something before shaking in his bloody shoes.

After staring at each other for quite some time, Harry speaks up. "If I could make mistletoe spout from the ceiling, I would. You're so slow at-"

His words fizzle off into a gasp when Louis presses his fingertips under Harry's chin and brings him closer to himself. His thumb strokes Harry's jaw and he goes cross-eyed looking into Harry's eyes. He shuts out the thoughts in his head and kisses Harry, trapping his lips in a gentle shy smack. "That okay?" He breaths out. He kisses him one more time, just a simple press of their lips before he can stop himself. "Hmm?"

Harry shakes his head, eyes closed like Louis might disappear when if he opens them. He pushes in and kisses Louis in a way that makes his head spin. And he doesn't move back, just as determined as he looked in the pub the previous night. He kisses Louis once, twice, up until he loses count and all Louis can feel is bubbles raising up into his brain.

A laugh chokes out of Harry when the both of them separate for air, their noses still brushing together. It makes Louis beam contently. "I should leave," he whispers, lying through his teeth. His hand falls to Harry's hip. "We should do this again. I like holding your hand."

Harry flicks his head back, eyebrows cocking up. But, all Louis can stare at are his ruined lips, quirked up with the teasing lilt. "Only holding my hand?"

"Shut it, you," Louis grins, nods sideway to the door beside them. "Go inside."

Harry smirks; it's a good look on him. His eyes flicker down. "I will once you let me go."

Louis notices that his hand is still glued to Harry's hip. His grip falls like he'd been holding a hot iron rod and his ears feel hot. "Sorry," he murmurs.

(Idiot.)

Cackling, Harry fishes out his keys and his door clicks open and he looks at Louis like he might not let him just yet, but he enters in, standing behind the ajar door with a tired smile. "I'll see you?"

"Yeah," Louis says, nodding seriously to make a point.

Then, the door shuts. Louis feels stupid. But, he feels his feet might be levitating off the ground and his heart is lying on doormat before him. He doesn't regret not staying the night at Harry as he should; he knows it'll eventually happen and he'll wait if he has to and not let the ordeal turn sour. He grins goofily at the floor, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. He straggles his shoes against the concrete and is just about to turn away as the door opens.

Harry's face floats before his vision. He makes a show of rolling his eyes at Louis. "Nutter."

And then, Louis's is being pulled into the room by his collar, his foot catching in the doorway and shambling in. The door closes and Harry pushes him against and simpers delectably at him. "Did you think I would let you go so easily? After all that wasted time?" The warmth of his words hit Louis's lips as if to pry them open.

(When Louis gets kissed, he can see the words "THE END" written behind his eyelids and it feels like a beginning he'd like to catalogue.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited.  
> Thanks so much for reading! Feedback is appreciated. x


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